He kisses with the well-practiced ease of James Buchanan Barnes circa 1939, soft and pliant and giving what the receiver needs.
He kisses with the desperation of a man, a boy, whose world is being pulled from underneath him - the resentment of drafting; the sorrow of leaving Steve; the fear of battle, the agony of torture; the confusion and relief of when he opens his eyes and blinks through the haze of poison running through his veins and sees Steve - Steve in a body that can finally contain his courage, his spirit.
He kisses with the fervour of Sergeant Barnes, ready to follow his best friend into a war he hopes they can win.
He kisses with the mastery of the Winter Soldier: a heated power-play of identifying his target and using his training to dominate them, to win.
Bucky kisses with the determination of a fragmented individual; an unmade and remade man trying to find his place in a world he doesn’t remember.